


Surprise

by prairiecrow



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Dominance, M/M, Silence Kink, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:46:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garak has a newfound respect for his Human friend that plays out in unexpected ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> Set a couple of days after the episode "Our Man Bashir".

Garak had to admit that Julian Bashir had been surprising him quite frequently of late: first the discovery of the Human's spy-related fantasies (well, perhaps those hadn't been _that_  shocking given Bashir's fascination with Garak's own murky past), followed quickly by a series of object lessons in how swiftly and decisively the good Doctor could take control of a situation — and then, that shot! The bite of the bullet as it grazed Garak's left neck ridge had unleashed much more than a messy spurt of blood: it had made him turn to face his long-time lunch companion in an entirely new frame of mind, one in which Bashir moved, for the first time, up into the rank of individuals whom Garak considered capable of matching his own determination and ruthlessness. 

A revelation indeed! It had sparked new interest on a number of different levels, some of which Garak was in the conditioned habit of not examining too closely. At the end of their adventure he'd issued his invitation to lunch in the holosuite program with every anticipation of seeing Bashir exceed his expectations all over again, now that 'the gloves were off', so to speak.

And now, a low hiss in his right ear, almost a growl: "Don't. _Move._ "

Garak, who had just been grabbed by the upper arms and slammed against the simulated wall of Bashir-the-spy's gorgeous Hong Kong apartment, immediately thought of at least three ways he could turn the tables and teach this daring boy the folly of laying hands on an agent of the Obsidian Order. But the pressure of that slender body against his, and the heat of angry breath against the small sensitive ridges that ran down the line of his jaw… he'd been extensively trained to recognize the value of pure instinct under certain conditions, and in this moment of greater surprise every instinct was telling him to open his hands to the wall and keep perfectly still.

They did not, however, constrain his tongue. The words came out with a poise which, while slightly breathless, was more or less intact: "My dear Doctor, what on earth do you —"

Bashir silenced him using the most expedient method possible. The kiss was long, deep, and savage, and when Bashir finally pulled away just enough to look Garak directly in the eyes, Garak found himself with even less breath to spare. He stared back, wondering if the Human had been possessed by an alien intelligence sometime in the past fifty-two hours, or if he had simply taken leave of his senses.

The gaze that pinned him even more securely was, however, perfectly sane: determined, angry and dominant, but sane. All those things that Garak had deliberately not been thinking about awakened with an abrupt surge that left his internal compass wildly spinning, a phenomenon that the tighter grip of Bashir's brown hands on his tuxedo-clad biceps did nothing to quell.

"Garak," Bashir said softly with an edge of irritation that thrilled hot and cold up Garak's spine, raising scales along the way, "you talk too damned much."

Garak huffed and straightened his shoulders as best he could in his present position. "I hardly think that —"

Another kiss — oh my, even deeper, and Garak thought again of the twist and the blow that would send his assaulter stumbling back across the sunlit room — but… well, instinct had other plans. He closed his eyes and tipped back his head and opened his mouth to it, suddenly possessed by a hunger for more than the delicacies laid out on the table: it would have been so easy to seize the delicately built Human and reverse their positions and take what he wanted…. to open the suit that highlighted every sweet slim contour of the man he'd admired for the past three years and touch every centimetre of honey-colored skin he could reach… he seriously doubted that Bashir would really object… 

"Shut. Up," Bashir murmured against his lips when they finally parted for breath again, and Garak knew that his own carefully honed ability to overpower his prey was not the deciding factor here. 

Eyes still closed, he nodded, once.

Bashir rewarded him with another kiss: gentler, with the curve of a smile implicit. Garak suspected it was not a kindly one. "I still owe you for bursting in on me while I was… engaged," he whispered, releasing Garak's left arm to start loosening his black tie with deft fingers. "And for needling me so relentlessly." It was a second's work to open Garaks' tuxedo jacket and spread it open, and to lean in to press a light swift kiss to  the place on Garak's neck where the bullet had drawn blood, long since healed by Bashir himself. "And for making me do _this_."

Garak thought of the expression that had filled those hazel eyes at that moment: fire and ice and perfectly self-assured dominance. He started to tremble finely, and dared to hope that Bashir did not feel it — but as those skilled hands began to take apart his carefully composed attire, and his own composure along with it, he knew that he wished in vain. He couldn't stop the shivering of his breath and his body, he couldn't stop the pounding of his heart, he couldn't stop the way Bashir was breaching his armour in every dimension, inflaming him and inflicting him with desires he had spent a lifetime holding at bay.

And what was far worse, as he permitted an officer of the enemy's military to conquer him utterly, was the realization that such shameful surrender had been lurking within him all along, awaiting only the proper moment and this man's confident touch to break free.

THE END


End file.
